Jaded orbs: You're right- this is the big break. Rhett's got no idea, but he will soon enough.

Guest: Yes, I'm sorry weekend chapters have been hitting Sunday evenings the last few weeks. It's been hectic over here but I promised the weekly updates! Thank you so much for your kind words- you don't know how much they mean to me. To his defense, Rhett has been suffering too, but his anger tends to always lean towards mockery, which is… unhelpful to say the least.

COCO B: I agree I always thought she would make the clean break, but that's an interesting idea to want her to just leave and say nothing. While I agree that that might have been old Scarlett, I'm honestly not convinced Rhett does know he has her. Scarlett's always had a flare for the dramatics, but I'd be interested in reading a story like that too. Thanks for the feedback!

Aethelfraed: Rhett is a true walking contradiction. His arrogance in believing he's more intelligent than those around him has rarely benefitted him, but he's not a bad man just misguided in my opinion. It's my theory that his lack of a family for many years gave him this very hard exterior and he never let people in for fear of them leaving him like his father.

Celticsketches: I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Thanks for the feedback and I hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter.

ScarlettGator: Thank you very much! I have made some minor tweaks; nothing major but dulling Rhett's anger down and mending loose ends was needed. I look forward to hearing from you again!

Truckee Gal: That's very true! She did fail to mention the good ol' Wilkes boy. Rhett will see soon enough. I hope you like this new chapter.

Guest 2: I think Rhett is paying attention, but I'm not sure he'll be able to succeed in getting Scarlett to stay. Let's see what happens!

Breakfastattiffanygs: This is it! The beginning of the end! Maybe? Thank you so so much for your kind words! I hope you enjoy this one!

Pnyfrmhvn: I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I hope you'll stay along for the ride.

While editing this chapter I remembered Lana Del Ray's Dark Paradise and I think that is fitting for this chapter. I'd love to hear from you. Thank you a million times to everyone who likes, followed, and commented. It means the world.

Chapter Nine

Rhett stared down, unable to look away from their interlocked hands. They looked so incongruous- his rough, tanned hand wrapped in her frail grasp. He was not sure what possessed him to allow her to hold him in such an intimate way. Perhaps it was the fact that he had been desperate to feel her touch for some years now. Perhaps it was just the whiskey.

He could definitely feel the effects of the alcohol on his nerves. When his mother had told him that his wife had come to their home unannounced and requested to see him, annoyance shot through him like a bullet. He had hoped that her obstinate resolve and superior sense of pride would keep her in Georgia, but her arrival had reset his clock for the desertion charges. He had no interest in seeing his estranged wife and even less interest in her belated declarations of love. He had expected to find her in a similar rage as he felt. He expected raised voices, fists, and tears. What he found when he opened the door to his mother's study, however, was the antithesis.

The woman before him, holding his hand, was fragile and seemed foreign to herself in her own body. Scarlett seemed to vibrate in an alternate frequency than him. She trembled uncontrollably and he could tell that she was keenly aware. She kept her hands folded and tucked into her lap trying to mask their insistent movement. She was quiet, her voice catching precariously at the ends of words. Her shoulders slumped inwards despite her best efforts. Scarlett was what he could only describe as dull which was a drastic change from the blazing, brazen woman he had known and loved. Her face was ashen, her eyes were muted, and her skin was sallow. This woman was altogether a stranger to him and in many ways it unnerved him.

A nauseating delight had blossomed somewhere deep in his chest when she confessed to acquiescing to his divorce demands. She was giving him exactly what he wanted. Finally, after all these months of letters and divorce papers, she was agreeing to his demands. He was to be rid of her once and for all. That satisfaction was tainted, however. While a sick part of him felt giddy over her confession, another part of him felt as if his stomach was bottoming out. He wondered if it was the alcohol or the last tendrils of his affection for her.

Scarlett had kept pace with him and consumed four glasses of whiskey and was nursing her fifth. He knew his limits with alcohol; he was no stranger to the bottle- especially not recently. Five glasses of whiskey had begun to soften the edges of his rage and loosen his tongue but he was a way away from being drunk. He could not say the same for Scarlett, however. He had known her long enough to know her limits and yet here she was, poised albeit slurring her words ever so slightly. If he did not know her, he would have thought very little of her slowed speech. If anything, the more intoxicated she became, the more coherent her thoughts and the less she trembled.

And those words cut him to the core.

Scarlett held no malice in her tone when she accused him of contributing to the end of their relationship. He had known for quite some time that he was not a model husband, but hearing her confirm it stirred something deep in him that he was not entirely sure he was ready to confront. He had extramarital affairs, he drank too much, he was oftentimes very cruel, but he had always contributed that to being in a one-sided marriage with a heartless woman unable to take accountability for her actions. Had she loved him better, he would have been good to her.

But was that true?

He was no longer sure that he could have loved her any more than he once did. He was also no longer assured of his long-held assumptions of her. For years he had mocked her, criticizing the fact that she was incapable of self-reflection. Yet here she was, laying bare her faults for him in an offering of peace. Part of him respected that she finally took responsibility for her inexcusable actions, but another part of him retreated further into resentment. It infuriated him that she was, in fact, capable of retrospection but waiting until the eleventh hour to discover this new talent. Why did it have to take him issuing divorce papers for her to start thinking of him?

He swallowed hard, unable to take his gaze away from their entwined hands. He once ached for her to willingly touch him this intimately, but now it stirred nothing in him. There was no spark, no longing, only her trembling, thin hands on his. He spent his love unrequitedly for years and now he was overdrawn.

He ruminated on her assessment of their marriage. She was both right and wrong. He had loved her because she was young and vivacious, headstrong. He loved that her spirit was like his: wild and untamable. She was someone that would do anything to survive. She was wrong, however, that he did not know her. He knew her because she was just like him. At first, the thought that they were the same had appealed to him. He knew how to tame a wild thing. After many years, he realized the mistake in his assessment: she was all the things he hated in himself. All the defiance, the carelessness, the passion was him. He made her so to feel less alone.

She was a child when they first met. She had no idea who she was or who she would become. She had a soft life with loving parents. She had a bright future until he fell in love with her. He coaxed out her demons and showed her how to alienate society. Yes, she was headstrong from the beginning, but he encouraged her. He led to his own demise.

Gently, he placed his glass on the table and covered their hands with his, patting them softly. He wished he taught her better. He wished she could have come to love him sooner. He wished he could eloquently express those feelings to her now, but he was conflicted. He did not want to give Scarlett hope when there was none. It was done. It needed to be.

He settled on, "Perhaps we were never meant to learn each other."

The phrase seemed hollow even as the words formed in his mouth. In another world, perhaps, they might have loved each other the way they were meant to. He pulled his gaze away from their hands in his lap and caught her eyes. They dazzled with unshed tears, but a sad smile flickered almost unnoticeable across her lips; more a flinch than a smile, he noted.

She pulled her hands from between his and reached for her drink. The last dregs of a fifth whiskey rimmed the bottom of the glass. She swallowed the liquid and poured herself another.

He wanted to tell her to slow down; that six drinks for a woman her size was too much, but he no longer had any say in her actions. She topped his drink, finishing the last of the alcohol in the decanter. Gingerly, and with much concentration, she set the crystal carafe down and picked up the envelope.

"I saw Mr. Ahlborn," she started, the words slurring in her mouth. "I know you wanted to divorce me, but the dissertation was rather insulting considering you knew where I was and how much I wished you'd come home. I had him amend it." She produced the divorce proceeding from the envelope, turned to the second page, and slid it towards him. When he glanced down he saw the grounds for divorce: habitual intoxication.

Rhett's head snapped up, his eyes pulling together in confusion. She nodded, "You said yourself just now: I am no stranger to the bottle. You made a comment at Melly's funeral that I'd had a few drinks. I had some bourbon the last night we made love. Now I am drinking in excess with you. You can fabricate any other claims that you might like. It is a solid dispute, Rhett, and I won't fight it."

She lifted her glass as if in a toast, a small, despondent smile flicking at the corner of her lips. He was stunned. He knew desertion was a legal stretch, but it was his only option. Ironically, Scarlett had more claim for divorce than he did. He had been egregiously unfaithful and at the end of their marriage and he was the one habitually intoxicated. He had thought when she came to deliver his papers that she had agreed to his terms. Never would he have suspected her to take the onus entirely upon herself.

When he did not lift his glass to her in kind, she set it down on the table and let out a long, slow breath. "You cannot prove desertion; Uncle Henry told me so. At best, you could get a divorce from bed and board with your justification. You can prove this, however. There will have been witnesses on at least two occasions. This is the only way."

"This will ruin you, Scarlett, you know that don't you?"

"It cannot ruin me more than it already has." Her voice hitched slightly, catching at the edge of her sentence. A pregnant moment rang between them in which Rhett thought she might cry. He wanted her to cry, even. The drunken stoicism of this stranger unsettled him in ways that he could not wrap his mind around. Her spirit was broken; her body was broken; even that damned resolve of hers that he had once loved so much was broken. She looked old. She looked tired.

Suddenly, involuntarily a nervous laugh slipped from her lips. "What reputation do I have to consider anyway? I am, generally, a pariah. I have nothing worth protecting except you."

Rhett was silent, stunned. His mind rocked in an inebriated turmoil. He felt torn: he wanted to reach out to her and embrace her but he also reveled in the fact that he would be free from her soon. He could start to rebuild his life without her in it. He realized he was revolted by both thoughts.

Instead of crying, she coughed softly to cover her quivering voice and continued. "Someday, I wish for you to not loathe me as you do now. I spoke to Uncle Henry about our assets. I think it would be best to sell the Peachtree Street house if you intend on staying in South Carolina. That house no longer seems like a home to me. Too many memories haunt me at night. I already asked Uncle Henry to start making inquiries in town if anyone is looking for land or a home. When it sells, I instructed him to forward you the entire sum. I have enough savings from the sale of the lumber business to take care of the children for many years if we downsize."

Rhett leaned back in his chair, stunned. She was never one to reject money. He narrowed his eyes slightly and cocked his head in suspicion, "What game is this, Scarlett? You have always been finance motivated."

She shook her head sadly, glancing at her full glass longingly. Rhett eyed her poignantly, knowing. He recognized that look. He saw the desire in her eyes: the desire to drown all of her emotions, numbing the ache. He recognized it because he had used that means of amnesia many times. It did not work, he found, but it did make the wounds throb less. She had consumed half the decanter of whiskey, however, and though she may not be feeling the alcohol yet she would soon.

He reached between them and pulled her drink to him. "You have had enough." He swallowed both his and her drink in succession. Six glasses was enough for her and he needed more alcohol if she was to play games.

"This is no game, Rhett. I… I," she paused. Scarlett closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. When she opened them again she continued, "I know you may not believe me, but I want this. I do not want you to feel beholden to me in any way. You made it… exceptionally clear that you do not want me in your life anymore. I fear that if we divorce and you still have to share expenses with me it will dredge up the same wounds again and again. Maybe this way…" she trailed off, looking absently at the empty glasses. "If we break clean, someday you might be able to think back on me with something other than disdain."

Rhett stared, the whiskey still burning its way down his chest. He knew what she was saying, but comprehension had not sunk in yet. She did not want his money because she did not want him to be tethered to her. She wanted to set him free completely.

His thoughts swam crashing over, under, and within him. She wanted to be rid of him. Or was it that she wanted him to be rid of her? He was not certain. This meant that she was free to wed whomever she wanted. Free to marry, have more children, and have an entire life void of him. The notion soured in his mouth. The idea of Ashley Wilkes or any other man touching Scarlett the way he had once wished to burned a dormant fury in his stomach and yet the thought of staying with her stoked that same fire. There was no happiness left with her and there was jealousy without her. He could stomach the envy. He has spent twelve years of his life pining for a woman who felt nothing for him. This he was used to.

A thought struck him then: the children. Wade and Ella.

An overwhelming sensation of guilt washed over him. He had left Scarlett, but he had also left those children. Rhett had loved Wade and Ella like his own. They never had anyone to love or cherish them the way that he doted over his own daughter. Scarlett was a lackluster mother. She provided for them financially, but emotionally she lacked the depth to cater to two children who had lost their fathers. He should have written them. He should not have forgotten them in his grief.

Her quiet voice slithered through his cacophonous mind, "So, I will have Uncle Henry look into selling the home and transfer the money to you via Mr. Ahlborn. I have already spoken to your lawyer who will be waiting for the payment."

"What a tidy way to rid yourself of all traces of our marriage." He heard himself say, a mile away. "How easy it must be for you to marry Ashley or anyone else with no trace of me." Rhett heard the sound of his own voice, low and devoid of feeling. It felt as if this phantom voice came from somewhere else. He couldn't stop the words yet somewhere in his fragmented mind he knew this was wrong.

"That's not fair, Rhett," Scarlett said softly. Her eyes dropped to her hands which she began to wring absently. "I have not spoken to Ashley since Melanie died. I have told you, he holds nothing for me. As for other men: I shall never marry again. I have had my chance at love and failed miserably as both a wife and a mother. I must atone for my behavior to my children and I will never love someone the way I have loved you. I will never do this to another again."

Scarlett brought her gaze up to meet his and the anger in him stilled. Her eyes. He had never seen such sadness, such utter resolve, in her gaze before. She was here and yet so far away. He fought his urge to reach out and tether her back to this earth.

Scarlett stared into him, carving his own anguish with those deep, emerald eyes. He would not goad her again, not anymore. Not now that he witnessed the depths of her despair. Not now after he saw his own sentiments reflected back to him in her eyes.

"The children," Rhett said, easier. "Take half the sale for Wade and Ella, at least."

The corners of her lips twitched upwards slightly, but she shook her head slowly. "No. If you wish to establish funds for Wade and Ella, I will not stop you but please leave me out of the proceedings. Do not feel like you must continue to contribute to their well-being. I have enough to keep us comfortable."

"It is not a matter of obligation, Scarlett. I love Wade and Ella. I watched them grow up and become the young people they are today. I have neglected them when they needed support and for that I am sorry."

"Write to them." Scarlett said, "I am sure they would love to hear from you. They often asked after you when we were all at Tara."

"What have you told them?" Rhett asked, a dread settling over him.

"I haven't told them anything. When they asked where you were I told them that you were away on business. When I see them next I will tell them what happened and that I asked for the divorce. They could use a proper father figure in their life and they adore you so. I am not the most affectionate mother, but as you once said: any mother, even a bad one, is better for a child than none. They will forgive me for divorcing you in time, but until they do, and if you intend to maintain a relationship with them they will need your guidance and love. If you do not intend to maintain the relationship please do not start now and then slowly fade until you never write or see them. It would hurt them and they should have some peace in all of this as well."

Rhett felt something stir inside of him then. He could not place the feeling but it unfurled around him slow and light. He felt dizzy with drink all of a sudden and mistook this light feeling for a last wisp of affection. "I would never abandon those children. I will write to them. If ever they wish to experience Charleston high society, they are always welcome in this home."

"I'm sure they would appreciate that."

Rhett glanced back down at the paperwork flipped open beside him. He turned each page until he came to the signature blocks. Scarlett had already signed along with his lawyer. The only thing standing between him and his freedom was a signature. Just his first and last name written cleanly on the delineated line. This should have pleased him. He should feel elated to finally get what he wanted for so long and yet he did not. The anger he had felt towards his wife, though present, had dulled in her presence. The angled edges of her body saddened him. The hollowness of her speech unnerved him. There was less resentment in him, but the weariness remained.

He was tired. She was tired. This whole marriage was exhausting and now at its very end, he almost felt remorse. He felt lonelier at this moment than he had ever felt in their bed. He would miss her someday, he knew. He would miss the banter they shared before they married. He would miss the challenge of her. Now they were at the confluence of erasure and he was worried at what his life might be without her in it.

"I am sorry it came to this, Scarlett," Rhett murmured, softly. He filed the pages on top of each other and looked at her. She nodded in agreement, placing her elbow on the mahogany table and leaning her chin into her palm to steady her head.

"I am too." Her words were quiet, full. "Rhett, do you think we could ever be friends again someday?"

Rhett thought for a moment. Thought of the many years behind them and the many more before them. He thought of all the nights he had loved her: one after the other in succession. He knew from the moment he saw her that he loved her. They were never friends, not to him. "No, Scarlett," he tore the words out of him like a seam, forcing him to say the thing that was both true and the most devastating. "I don't believe we can."

She nodded into her palm, her arm trembling beneath it. He watched her eyes brim with tears, but they never fell. She blinked once and they were gone, the stoic mask she had been maintaining put carefully back in place. She let out a short staccato breath and forced a weak smile and said, "I know."

He watched her swallow hard and begin to stand. The alcohol rushed through her rapidly and she stumbled, catching herself against the table. Scarlett steadied herself before taking another step but faltered, tripping over the table leg.

Rhett moved faster than the whiskey should have allowed, catching her around the waist and pulling her upwards, against his chest to steady her. She blinked slowly, shaking her head slightly to clear her dizzied vision. She was pressed loosely to him, her arms tucked between them and his snaked around her waist. He too felt lightheaded, the drink affecting him more than he realized.

They stood there for a moment, neither of them moving to disentangle themselves. He regarded her, but she had trained her eyes on his chest, refusing to meet his gaze. He understood then, why she would not. Just as he understood the undertow of a faint desire to not release her. If he let her go, she would walk free from his life untethered. There was a finality to it. He would let her go from this moment and he would let her go from the life that had created together. Something stirred in him and anxiety splintered around his heart. "Stay," he whispered before he could stop himself. He could smell her perfume mixed with the whiskey. He was too close, his mind screamed, but he continued, "You are in no condition to travel. I can have my mother ready a guest room and you can leave in the morning."

Scarlett shook her head, eyes still focused on the buttons of his shirt. "No, I am fine. Really." She sounded so small, he realized. She felt even smaller. He knew she had looked gaunt, but in his arms, she felt so delicate that he feared if he held her too tightly she might shatter. "Uncle Henry has arranged for my travel." She offered, feebly.

Neither of them moved. Scarlett ran a hand over his lapel, her eyes watching her lazy fingers. He watched this motion with a measured rawness. He could not discern why he could not release her. All he had to do was open his arm and step back. He even attempted, but his body would not move.

She lifted her face to his, searching. Scarlett combed his gaze for something that would make this embrace sensible. He even examined his own mind for the reasoning, but could find none. It made no sense to him either. He had wanted this divorce. He had wanted freedom. That still remained true and yet he wanted to remember her like this: as someone who loved him and wanted to be held by him.

He moved to release her but stilled instantly when something shifted in her gaze. She kept her eyes steady on him even as her body swayed in his grasp. There was a faint flicker in her regard that had been absent. She dismantled the cool, distant mask she had arranged on her face briefly fell and in its wake was a raw despondency. He understood that gaze to his core. He had felt that same melancholia when he sought refuge in drink and sex at the brothel. He felt it gambling with his acquaintances. He felt it in the vicious way he had attacked her in his letters. Grief, he thought, has a way of permeating you slowly. It feels like a drop in a cool lake, but that drop ripples again and again and more drops come. You don't realize how it overtakes you until you are already drowning.

She flicked her eyes down towards his lips. He guessed her intent before the thought bubbled into her mind. "Scarlett," he cautioned. He was dismayed to hear that it sounded somewhere between a warning and a plea.

She tipped herself up on her toes, leaning father into his chest to brush her lips softly, chastely against his. A final goodbye. The action stunned him and the sensation of her lips on his burned even after they were gone. His mind swam, the thoughts moving slowly through a whisky haze. Before he could gather his thoughts, she slipped from his grasp and moved towards the door.

Panic set in. This was farewell. This was something he had wanted yet he felt this pit in his stomach expand. To quell it, he reached out to grab her hand. She stopped one hand on the doorknob that he had gripped so tightly an hour before, the other in his rattled grip. He watched as she took a breath and squared her shoulders gently. When she turned to him, a soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He noticed that it never reach her eyes. Her mask was back in place. She placed her hand softly on his, patting it gingerly twice.

"Goodbye, Rhett," the words trembled and his name caught on her breath.

Before he could react, she slipped from between his fingers and was gone.

The carefully built resolve she had been bracing shattered immediately when she closed the door behind her.

Scarlett gasped, her breath catching in her throat and ripping the last shred of strength from her resolve. She pressed her back hard into the doorknob in an attempt to feel pain anywhere but inside her chest. She could not stay in this house for another moment. She would not let him see her break.

She buckled one hand over her mouth to silence her sobs, the other pressed to her stomach. She could gather enough strength to walk out the front door. She could leave Rhett behind. She had no other choice. Scarlett swiped at her wet cheek. "Take a step," she whispered shakily to herself. One foot in front of the other; each step felt like she was dragging lead across the floor. She moved purposefully, throwing open the door of his mother's home and nearly running to her carriage.

She did not notice Mrs. Butler watching her from the drawing room.

Once in the comfort of her carriage, Scarlett broke down. She buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly as she had not allowed herself to weep before. She had done it. She had shown Rhett her strength in the wake of his anger. She had shown her tenderness for him that still remained. Hopefully, someday, he might remember her that way instead of the harsh woman he had married.

A scream bubbled up inside her breast; she swallowed it whole.

A crack of thunder split in the evening sky. White lightning illuminated the purple evening snaking jagged edges through the landscape around her. A steady rain began bearing down against the carriage roof and Scarlett attempted to steady her breathing to the staccato beats of the fall. Each breath brought on a wave of anguish that she could not shake. That would be the last time she ever saw her husband again.

The thought tore through her as the lightning cracked around her. She had to compose herself; she was nearly at the station and had a long journey home. She could cry later. She could confront this agony tomorrow.

Scarlett felt the whiskey and her dissociation bifurcate her as she boarded the train. She peeled apart at the seams, moving slowly between anxious desperation and an eerie stillness. She vacillated between the two for hours watching the rain out of the train car windows. The scream sat perched at the edge of her throat, waiting. She felt herself numb with whiskey, eyes blurring out of focus. Moments lost of madness.

She moved through her body for hours as silent tears streaked her face. She did not recall how long she sat there. Scarlett did not remember the dark night turning to morning. She did not remember passing her stop in Augusta or sleeping or stretching her limbs. She did not remember moving at all not when she transferred several trains, and not when the whiskey haze began to ebb. All she remembered was the consistent rain and the fissure of spirit.

Evening settled on her once again be it days or hours she did not know. She did not recognize this landscape. She was far from Augusta, far from her home, but the eerie stoicism had overtaken her. She stood at the next stop and exited her sleeper car with no bags and began walking. She walked past the train station, past the town, past fields for miles and miles.

Night settled around her like a coffin. She suddenly felt claustrophobic. Her tears sprung up against her eyes as the rain beat down on her skin. The dissociative calm that had penetrated her core erupted and suddenly Scarlett was manic. She walked, soaking wet, through miles of farmland until she sunk to her knees in the middle of a wheat field, drenched and exhausted. In a frenzied craze, she began tearing at the bodice of her dress trying to rip it from her skin. Scarlett was too weak; the wet fabric slipped from between her hands and she began to sob. Long, loud, body-wracking sobs.

For the first time since leaving South Carolina, Scarlett opened her mouth. The scream that sat balanced on the edge of her throat tore through the air like the thunder above ripping the last semblance of her from her body.